


Imagine: Trying to comfort Castiel after he has a fight with Dean.

by webcricket



Series: Castiel Imagines [10]
Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 00:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9574034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket





	

You emerged from your room into an unusual sort of silence. You knew the boys were back from their latest adventure because Sam’s text announcing there was hot pizza in the kitchen had just woken you from a nap. Yet, somehow the bunker still seemed too quiet. Grabbing your fluffy robe from the door to stave off the chilly atmosphere, you ambled onward to the kitchen.

“Hey Y/N,” Sam greeted you with a grin over his laptop screen, “sorry I woke you.” He motioned at his hair with a wince, signaling you to check your own.

Feeling your hair, you discovered an epic case of bed head and smiled gratefully, “Don’t be, thanks.” Idly combing your fingers through your locks to tame the mess, your eyes fell upon Dean. He sat rigidly in the chair, arms crossed, brooding over half-eaten slice of pizza and bottle of beer. You glanced around the periphery of the small room – finding no sign of the blue-eyed angel you’d grown especially fond of this last year of calling the bunker home, innocently asking, “Where’s Cas?”

Sam grimaced at your words, bracing his shoulders as if for impact.

Dean’s green eyes narrowed darkly. He shrugged apathetically, voice edged in fresh anger, “Wherever the hell he wants to be, probably figuring out new ways to jam the letter I into team.”

A frown crept over your lips. A brief glance at Sam confirmed the situation – the angel and the elder Winchester were bickering, again. You now understood the strange feeling in the air. You pointed at the floor, mouthing the words to Sam, “Is Cas here?”

Sam nodded.

You exhaled a sigh of relief - the last time Cas had disappeared for weeks, failing to respond to your calls to check in. Only when you sent out a desperate prayer asking for help on a hunt, explaining Sam and Dean were otherwise indisposed and you were alone, did he make contact. He helped you with that case, and stayed by your side for a string of others. Afterward he tagged along back to the bunker with you, and things between he and Dean had been copacetic for a time.

Knowing exactly where you would find an angel seeking solitude in the bunker, you spun on your heel and marched down the hall. Descending into the storage room slash dungeon, you found him sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall, blue eyes sullen.

He didn’t stir at your presence.

You stepped closer, fuzzy-socked toes nudging the hem of his trench coat, “May I?”

His chin bobbed almost imperceptibly.

You dropped to the floor beside him, taking a deep breath and scooting nearer until your shoulder barely touched his. You sat in shared silence, knowing no words could fix what he was going through – it was between him and Dean. But you weren’t there to talk about it.

At first, the angel didn’t understand why you picked up his hand.

Slowly turning it over in yours, you delicately traced the rough-hewn lines of his palm, pausing to study the smallness of your own hand in comparison. Your heart ticked faster, emboldened by the sensation of his warm skin against your own.

He observed your actions with a casual indifference.

When he didn’t pull away, you interlaced your fingers through his, drawing his hand to your lap and clasping his palm tight. You stared hopefully at the line of his jaw, his expression remaining unreadable.

Bit by bit, his vessel responded to the comforting gesture, tenseness easing from his muscles, glimmering blue eyes flashing curiously over your intertwined hands. Gradually, his focus shifted to peer searchingly into your eyes.

You met his questioning gaze. Smiling reassuringly, you reached your free hand out to brush a dark curl behind his ear, your fingers curling to caress his stubbly cheek, “You are not alone, Castiel.”

His eyes welled at your simple sentiment, heart soaring with the novelty of a new emotion. He squeezed your hand back, a small smile stirring in his solemn features, the light returning to his eyes. For all the concepts which confounded the fallen angel, one notion blazed with sudden clarity – love.


End file.
